Lame title I know. I love this scene between Jack and Ianto. Its both sweet and intense. Seen a couple of fics about Jacks perspective so I wanted to do Ianto. Hopefully its true to his Character.

I slowly and quietly walked up the steps, trying to make as little as sound as possible, not really wanting to interrupt Jack, but just coming to see if he was ok. It's part of my job, really, to care for everyone, clean up, do admin and archiving. But when it came to Jack, it's more. So much more.

He's shuffling paper work; but I can see from his body language, a language that I can count myself fluent as anyone could be, having studied first hand, that his mind was on other things. He must have heard me entering his space, because without looking up he says:

"This time tomorrow, he'll be back in 1918,"

From the flat tone in his voice, a stranger would think he were just stating a fact with no emotional investment, but I can hear the subtle undertone of regretfulness, as the edges of his soft lips dip downwards. It makes my heart ache, to see Jack in such pain. Other than anger or joy and more often than not, a delightful, confident cheekiness due to him being a walking innuendo, I think it is a rare thing to see that Jack expresses any hurt and sadness.

But still in this moment, he is hurting. The only other times I've seen him look this way was when he has to make hard decisions even though he knows they're the right one. Like when he chose to allow the fairies to take the girl Jasmine, or when he has to admit another rift stolen person to Flat Holmes. Hell, even when he chose to kill Lisa. Again he is making the decision to send Tommy back, to his death and to break Tosh's lonely heart, all for the reason of 'for the better good.'

"In his own time," I state.

I feel like I should say more, try drag him out of this mood. I learnt a long time ago that the best way to make someone think of something different is to ask them a question. Many come to mind. Why did you leave with the Doctor, where did you go, why did you come back, why did you come back looking so broken, will you leave again, what do you want with me, how do you feel? I go for the easiest, most time relevant question.

"Would you go back to yours? If you could?"

Too slowly, as the question already passes through my lips, I realise it is just all those questions subtly rolled into one. I want to know his answer, need to know, even though I know that maybe I won't want to hear it. What if he were to tell me that he would willingly abandon all of us, abandon me again? After everything that has happened in the past, all the bad choices I have made, that have cost me my heart - asking this question was the worst. I can't bear to lose him again.

He pauses, and looks up, staring ahead at nothing in particular. I can see a million thoughts pouring through his mind. Oh, maybe it wasn't such an easy question for him either. The pause feels like it spans a million years, though over in only seconds. He smiles then, asking in a cheeky voice:

"Would you miss me?"

He has answered my question, with a question. The sly bastard. Like all our other conversations, he has tip-toed around emotions, feelings and truths. But when he looks down, I can see that his answer is laced with a hidden truth, a silent plea. I doubt even he knows that my answer means so much to him. But heart flutters, and without a second between his question and my answer, I simply and lightly say:

"Yep,"

His head snaps up, eyes open. I think he is surprised by such an abrupt and truthful answer. So am I in a way. I somehow feel however that my answer has made him even sadder. I begin to walk closer to him, the need to be closer to him, to comfort him, almost unexplainable. He takes in a deep breath and sighs.

"I left home a long time ago. I don't really know where I really belong. Maybe it doesn't really matter anymore"

His answer holds so much truth; I don't really know what to say. Where does he belong? In the future? In the past? In the 21st century? With his doctor? With one of his so many lovers, that are gone and lost. I don't know where he truly belongs, but I know where I want him to belong. I want him to belong to here now. I want him to belong to me. I want to say all that, that I love him, but in the last moment change it to:

"I – know you get lonely,"

I go and sit on the edge of his desk, to be closer to him. What I said was a hint of what I really wanted to say. That I am lonely too, and if he wants we can be lonely together. He closes his folder, and looks up, his work done for the night. As he stares ahead, I stare at his face, taking in the beautiful structure of it. His face is passive, so I keep mine the same, holding myself in check. All I want though is for his midnight blue eyes to stare up into my own, so I can better know what he is thinking and feeling. And he does, when he says

"Going home wouldn't fix that."

In the quiet room, his voice sounds loud and deep although it is by far the most quiet and gentle I have ever heard him. In his answer, I know that he didn't understand that I could be the solution, the fix. But instead, he thinks that I just meant his home, his real family. Doesn't he understand that this place can be his home now, that torchwood three can be his family, if he would just let us? He looks away, and I see a deep and raw grief in his eyes. Maybe he doesn't have a home far away anymore. All the more reason for him so be with us. He shakes his head.

"Being here, I've seen things I never dreamt I'd see," this world is amazing and it is the people that I meet that make it so.

I feel the intensity of what he is saying, as he taps his hand on the desk in emphasis.

"Loved people I never would have known if I'd just stayed where I was."

I look down now when he looks up, to look at me. It is my turn now, not to want him to look in my eyes, least he see that I am feeling both sadness and an impossible hope at the same time. I wonder if I am one of those people he has loved. I dare to hope I am. But I may not be. We have after all in the past hated each other with a passion. I want to believe that I am though, so I look up. I so want this all to be real.

"And I wouldn't change that for the world," he tells me.

And in that moment, I don't care if he loves me or not. I love him. We stare at each other for what feels like an eternity. I have never made the first move, but the impulse to show him how I feel is too strong. I begin to lean in, my hand reaching for the back of his neck as I pull him close. He responds by raising his face, his lips to mine. I reach my other hand around to cup his face, needing to touch more of him, never wanting to let him go. I feel his warmth and the soft feel oh his skin against mine. He reaches up with both hands to caress my shoulders, and then slides them down to hold my face to his. We belong together. I close my eyes, enraptured by the moment, feelings its passion. For his sake and mine, I need this kiss, this moment to erase all of today's troubles and to make us forget about the tragedies to still come.